


The Time of Mating

by belmanoir



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 08:44:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belmanoir/pseuds/belmanoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After "Amok Time," Kirk comes to Spock's quarters to make sure he's all right. At least, that's his excuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Time of Mating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrs_laugh_track](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_laugh_track/gifts).



_Jim is straddling him, his hands on Spock's shoulders. He gasps and shudders and slowly suffocates. They're both sweating in the Vulcan heat, their legs tangled together. It's darker and more erotic than anything Spock could have gotten from T'Pring. He grunts and thrusts upwards against Jim's weakly resisting body--_

Spock's eyes open. He is sweating and twined in his sheets, painfully, shamefully aroused.

There is a sharp rap on the door. Its predecessor must have woken him. 

"Spock?" Jim's voice in the hallway.

Spock turns on the lights and breathes deeply, making the captain wait for long moments while he finds his composure. His erection subsides, gradually. Spock dislikes his body: the Vulcan half, always both too hot and too cold, and the human half, lukewarm enough to know there is something deeply, awfully wrong in the extremes of temperature.

"Spock, are you in there? If you don't open this door--"

"Coming, Captain." He only sounds a little hoarse. Through the door, it is no doubt imperceptible. He frees himself from his sheets and stands. He wishes he were wearing his uniform, but putting it on would be nothing short of conspicuous at this time of night--he chides himself for that lazy and imprecise way to phrase it. His mind is slippery and stubborn after his pon farr. He should have said, at this point in his off-duty shift. He will simply have to make do with his loose-fitting shirt and pants. He smooths down his hair, walks to the door, and presses the button to make it slide open.

Jim is standing on the other side in his dressing gown. The hallway, of course, is full of uniformed crew members even though it is Jim and Spock's middle-of-the-night. A few give them odd looks before Jim pushes his way past Spock. The door swishes shut behind him.

Spock straightens his shoulders. "What can I do for you, Captain?"

"I just--" Jim coughs. "I couldn't sleep. I was concerned. Are you fully recovered, Spock? Have the symptoms subsided, even though you didn't--ah--?" 

Spock is not fully recovered. He speculates on where he would be now if things had gone as he expected and he had succeeded in marrying and mating T'Pring. Eventually, of course, he would have returned here, leaving his wife on Vulcan, but tonight they would have--the thought does not please or tempt him. And yet his blood burned; he would have done anything to gain something he never wanted with his mind. 

There are bruises on Jim's neck from Spock's ahn-woon. Beneath his robe, Spock knows, there will be a long line of dried blood running horizontally across his chest. "I am quite all right, Captain," he says. "I believe it is I who should be asking if you are recovered."

The captain brushes that aside, as he always does threats to his personal safety. "It's nothing, Spock." 

There is probably a human way to do this, and a Vulcan way as well. Spock cannot think of either of them. His spine feels as stiff and fragile as a bar of second-grade Altair II steel. "May I say again how deeply I regret--"

"No, Spock, you mayn't. You weren't yourself."

His blood begins to burn with resentment. It frightens him. "Yes, Captain, I was. You must accept that. I'm not human."

Jim reaches out and presses his hand unerringly over Spock's heart. Even Dr. McCoy still has trouble finding it. "I know," he says.

Jim is close and his hair is so bright it hurts Spock's eyes. Spock can smell him. He's aroused, and angry and ashamed at being aroused. He does not know what to do, so he stands stock-still, his heart beating under Jim's palm.

"Spock--can I ask you a personal question?"

"I think you have earned that right."

Jim sighs, but he asks the question. "Can Vulcans _only_ mate during pon farr?"

Spock stares at a smudge on the door. Jim cannot possibly mean what Spock thinks he means. "No. At pon farr we are compelled, but like humans, the rest of the time we may choose."

Jim steps closer. "Do you--will you-- _Spock_ \--" He sounds desperate, for once at a loss for words. Perhaps the madness isn't entirely spent, because Spock slams him back against the door and kisses him. 

Jim yields, opening his mouth under Spock's with an audible gasp. For a moment Spock is drowning in him, the darkness dragging him under, and then he wrenches away.

"Spock?" Jim sounds confused, and breathless. Breathless. Spock shudders.

"How can you--how can you behave as if nothing has changed? How can you simply overlook what happened? I killed you."

"Spock." Jim puts a hand on his cheek and tries to turn his head. "Look at me. _Look. At. Me._ "

Now Spock can hear him. Now, when it's too late. He stares into Jim's eyes. They're too close. He wants to look away but he can't disobey an order.

"Spock, T'Pau told me you were deep in the blood fever. She said you wouldn't speak again until it was over." Jim takes hold of his shoulders and shakes him, fiercely. "But you did, Spock. You came out of it. She said it was impossible, but you did it. You pleaded with her. You did that for me."

Spock doesn't even remember it. But the captain wouldn't lie. "Be that as it may, I--"

Jim gives a frustrated sigh. "Spock, you didn't know what you were doing. Let it go."

He stares Jim down, goaded beyond the point of endurance. "I enjoyed it." There, he has said it. His heart races. He is the one suffocating now. 

Jim frowns, bites his lip. "I--" He coughs, raises a hand to his throat, thinks for long moments. "If you wanted to hit me, we could--well. We could?" He says it dubiously but gamely, as if he can't quite figure out where Spock is going with this line of reasoning but he's doing his best to follow anyway. As usual, Spock's actual meaning is quite lost on him.

And Spock gives in, because this is what Jim does. He takes things in stride. They've known each other for years and Spock has never once seen him shocked by anything. It was presumptuous to think he would be the first. "I have no wish to strike you, Captain," he says, and Jim smiles at him. Spock closes his eyes.

Jim pulls him slowly closer--as slowly, at any rate, as Jim does anything. "I didn't think so," he says from an inch away, and kisses Spock again.

Another time Spock will teach him about the joining of hands and the pleasure of waiting. Tonight he doesn't want to try Jim's patience any longer. He allows Jim to bear him backwards, towards the bed. They tumble together, gracelessly. Spock's shirt is already gone. Jim's small talent--Spock never knew it worked on his partners as well.

"Are you--are you--how experienced are you--?" Jim is trying to live up to his own notions of chivalry even in the grip of passion. Spock finds that reassuring.

"Not very. Certainly not as much as you."

"Jealous, Spock?" Jim smiles down at him, his hair falling into his eyes.

"Certainly not." As if there were anything to envy in being loved and left on some backwater planet by Captain James T. Kirk.

"I was jealous," Jim admits, his voice deepening. "But I should have known better."

"Yes." Spock's voice rasps across the word. "You should have." He pulls Jim down against him, hard, because he can. Vulcans are animals after all. They want to possess and rut and--he groans as Jim's hand pulls down his pants and closes around his penis.

Jim kisses him again. Spock knew Jim liked to kiss, but this is a different type of knowing, a knowing of bodies and heartbeats. Of blood. "Spock--I want--but we'll wait for next time, we'll--" Jim pushes and pulls at him impatiently until Spock is on his side, Jim pressed behind him. Jim's hard member slides between his buttocks and settles there. Spock flushes bright green at the realization of what Jim wants, next time.

Jim pulls at him, long, hard strokes. It is embarrassing, and the rhythm is not what Spock is used to. Jim is panting like any rutting animal in his ear, natural and honest and unashamed. Spock shuts his eyes and tries to let the darkness come, tries not to be afraid of surrendering to it.

"Spock--" Jim gasps. "Spock, trust me. Please."

"I do." 

"Say my name," he says, in that tone that says he can have anything if he wills it hard enough. Spock has seen it work. He has followed Jim into a thousand impossible situations of Jim's own creating, and Jim has found a way out of them all. "Say my name, Spock."

"Jim." Jim's hand, Jim against his back, Jim wanting. Wanting _him._ _"Jim."_

"Oh, God, Spock," Jim groans against his shoulder, mouth hot and wet. The madness comes in a roar and swallows Spock whole.

###

Later, he is messy. There is seed, his own and Jim's, in the bed, on his clothes, and on his skin. His bed is not big enough for two. Jim is attached to him as firmly as an Aldebaran mud leech.

"Spock?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Vulcans do--mate for life. Don't they?"

Spock coughs to cover his laugh. "That depends. But I believe it is safe to say that _I_ do."

"Good."

"Would you like me to fetch us a towel, some water--"

Jim fluffs the pillow, lets his head fall onto it with a _whuff_ of contentment. "Tomorrow, Spock."

Spock sleeps.


End file.
